


A brief history of the non-existent autobiography of Zacharias Smith (and how it came to be written)

by TobermorianSass



Series: On-dits from the lives of the rich and the obscure [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, and everyone learns that Rita Skeeter is not to be trifled with, in which The Wixenomist is a hotbed of scandal, mentions of drug use, with a cameo by Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobermorianSass/pseuds/TobermorianSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The true story of how everyone at The Wixenomist's London Office learnt how to stop worrying and love Rita Skeeter, or, a brief history of the life of Zacharias Smith from the troublesome age of nineteen to twenty-one and how he came to be a Reformed Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A brief history of the non-existent autobiography of Zacharias Smith (and how it came to be written)

"Blackmail, Augustus? Isn’t that a little beneath you?"

Augustus Blythely raises his eyebrows, "Blackmail, Rita? That would imply an exchange of money -" he gestures, "Which there isn’t."

"You know, some people might start to suspect." Rita Skeeter examines her fingernails, " _Wonder_ , why The Wixenomist likes to keep itself so _anonymous_."

"My dear, you make it sound as though we’re harbouring a fairy-dust smuggling kingpin."

"Aren’t you?"

"Am I? Merlin, how dreadful."

"Harboring a tall and broody young man with an unmentionable past and ne’er a word for the press, yet strangely enough a member of er, Dumbledore’s Army. Enough matter for scandal _there_ , without one considering _Colombia_."

"Well we can’t all be sanguine and full of jollies, my dear - one can hardly consider being _serieux_ a sign of a serious deficiency of character. I’m sure Smith has a completely reasonable explanation, though I’m not sure _you_ have one for er, certain _damaging_ photographs that the DMLE might be quite _interested_ in that I just so happen to have in my possession."

"Really, Augustus?" she fiddles with her quill, "I do believe Mrs Granger-Weasley knows about my fondness for, er, shapeshifting."

"Mmmm. And she knows about 1969 too, I suppose."

The quill snaps, "You wouldn’t."

"Wouldn’t I?," he smiles, sharkishly, "You keep Smith out of this book of yours and this," he waves vaguely, "thing you call an article and I’ll keep these, um, photographs safely stashed away. One wouldn’t want one’s friends to be seen _déshabillé_ and cavorting with er, notorious criminals after all - would one?"

"You’re a loathsome _toad_."

Blythely leans forward and grabs her wrist, "No mentions of Smith, no fruitless speculations, no wild rumours, not a whiff of scandal - _no mentions of The Wixenomist_ \- and oh yes, no mentions of Prewett either, but I _do believe_ she has that settled on her own, doesn’t she, what with er, _Operation Julie_ \- she’s such a _capable_ woman. Really quite astounding -"

"All right," says Rita through gritted teeth, "But you tell Smith this - someone’s going to talk about _Colombia_ soon enough and better me than _Kitty Perkins_."

"My dear," he drawls, "I believe she’s editing his autobiography."

Rita storms out of the room. Augustus Blythely, editor in chief of The Wixenomist and author of the extremely popular _The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Wix_ , leans back in his chair and smiles beatifically.

"I haven’t heard that one before," says Zacharias Smith, opening the door that connects Blythely’s office and the junior editor’s office, "I might just have to include it in this, er, autobiography of mine."

"You might even have to write it," murmurs Blythely.

* * *

It is six months and four days later that Zacharias Smith starts to suspect that something is Not Quite Right with the world.

By all standards it is an ordinary sort of day. Perhaps the only extraordinary thing about it is that it is a Monday and that means hard work and quite possibly a tall pile of letters detailing all the things he managed to get wrong in last week's _Xenophon_.

Not that he ever sees these letters, but they exist. In theory. Which makes Monday a tiresome day. In theory.

He is strolling along leisurely along Diagon Alley when a young witch, coming down the pavement in the opposite direction, stumbles quite suddenly over nothing in particular and lands straight into his instinctively outstretched arms.

"Steady on," he says, helping her stand up.

"I'm so sorry," she looks up at him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Are you Zacharias Smith?"

"Er, yes?"

"Lisa Fennimore," she extends her hand and he shakes it and murmurs something which may be _how do you do?_ Except it's less of a question directed towards her than it is directed towards himself. He then smiles the smile of the mildly terrified and waits precisely five seconds, watching her smile in what he supposes is meant to be an enticing, come-hither sort of fashion but really he _does_ follow his mum's instructions and refuses to converse with strangers ( _bloody waste of time_ ), before he murmurs something about _nice to meet you_ and continues on his way.

He turns on to Fleet Street and yet another young witch has a similar accident with her shoes - high heels, _fairly certain Mafalda Prewett manages to balance in heels far more unstable than those_ \- and Zacharias begins to suspect that something is Up.

There are plenty of young women who spend their lives having strategic accidents with their shoes when in the presence of eminently desirable young men, he supposes, but he's never been one of _those_ men. He is an ordinary man, with fairly ordinary prospects and yes, five thousand galleons a year is _fairly ordinary_ , thank you very much, particularly if you pit it against Malfoy's rather extensive 20,000 galleons a year. He works for _The Wixenomist_. He is therefore, by logical inference, not the sort of man to attract the attentions of young women who have strategic mishaps with their shoes in the hope of netting themselves a desirable mate.

Until today, it would seem.

Slightly bemused by this development - or what he suspects is a Development, but refuses to accept until he acquires further objective proof that something is indeed Up - he continues on his way, albeit cautiously.

His day goes downhill from there.

Charlotte Meryton wishes him good morning and _smiles_ , _predatorily_ when he comes in and then proceeds to _bring him his mail_.

"Is the, er, intern ill?" he asks her.

"Cholmondeley. And no, he's quite fine. Just thought I'd change things up a bit," she smiles - _overbright_ -at him, "Change is good for your soul and all that."

"Change is good," he murmurs faintly and then proceeds to hide behind a particularly tiresome draft article that one of their freelance writers believes passes as fact when it is, as Zacharias Smith can very well tell, pure drivel.

Three hours later Augustus Blythely emerges from his office, quite opportunely, and quickly sends Mafalda Prewett on her way with an admonishment to not corner his staff and waggle her eyebrows lasciviously at them.

"It's sexual harassment," he says, "Especially if they aren't interested," he indicates Zacharias Smith who looks terrified and bewildered by all this sudden female interest in him, "That is the face of a man who's not interested in your advances."

"But it's _Smith_ ," she protests, "He's virtually asking for it, standing there and not telling me what's what with Finch-Fletchley."

"There's nothing -"

"I don't bloody _care_ about Finch-Fletchley he could be shagging the Boy Who Bloody Lived for all I care, but you're not to intimidate him. Or anyone. This is a non-intimidation zone -"

Zacharias quietly slips away during the ensuing fracas.

* * *

"I can't understand it," he waves the spatula about, narrowly missing the side of Justin's head, "No one's _ever_ been interested in me before and now here we are, the streets of London _lined_ with witches  _flinging_ themselves at me."

Justin snorts.

"No - no, it's not funny, all right? You'd think I'd be safe at work but _no_ , there's _Meryton_ , bloody _Meryton_ who's looking at me as though she'd like to eat me for breakfast, lunch _and_ dinner."

"Maybe it's like with dogs," says Justin, "Maybe it's your new cologne. Signals your readiness -"

Zacharias throws lettuce at him before he can finish that sentence.

* * *

"If you're going to fling yourself around my office moaning about how life is treating you unkindly, I'll personally floo the _Livers_ and have them send Mafalda here."

"Oh Merlin no, she's the absolute worst. The pity and the interest I can do but hers veers into the range of Speculative Interest."

"Speculative Interest?"

"With a glint."

"A glint."

"Yes."

"Dear me," says Augustus in a tone that conveys that he quite clearly is not interested.

"As though I'm a person of Utmost Interest."

"Really," Augustus replies automatically, then looks up sharply, "You haven't, by any chance, told anyone about _Colombia_ have you?"

"No - I mean, who would I - who would have - _oh_ \- _she can't have_."

"No?"

"You made her promise not to -"

"In her book. In that article - yes."

"It was _implied_."

Augustus eyes him pityingly, "Have you learnt _nothing_ in all your years working alongside Prewett?"

* * *

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rita says primly.

"Really Rita, I don't believe you expect me to fall for that."

"Augustus darling, I can't help it if the female members of your staff appear to have developed an, er, Speculative and Pitying Interest in your Business editor."

"Mmmhmmm. And I suppose their mistaken belief that he needs reforming stems out of nowhere at all?"

"Witches these days," she tuts, "Oversexed and over-excitable."

"And of course, you haven't happened to mention _Colombia_ to anyone."

"D'you know the funniest thing, Augustus dear - I happened to meet Kitty over lunch - was it two? three? A few weeks ago - mentioned Mr Smith's autobiography to her and congratulated her on such a prestigious project -"

"Oh dear," he murmurs.

" - Strangely enough she hadn't heard about it, not even when I tried to jog her memory by asking her about _Colombia_."

"Isn't that odd?" he says, picking at a little bit of non-existent fluff on the sleeve of his robes.

"That's what I thought, but of course, Mr Smith isn't the sort of person to _lie_ is he now? After all, he _does_ work for The Wixenomist - this bastion of truth and objectivity - not quite the place for _liars_ and _scoundrels_ to take refuge. So naturally, I assumed the worst and er, refreshed her memory."

"Delightful."

"The soul of helpfulness and professional friendliness, as always. You," she stands up, "Could take a lesson or two, darling."

"So it would seem," he sighs as he watches her sashay from the room.

* * *

"Explain this," says Justin, unceremoniously dumping a copy of _Witch Weekly_ on Zacharias' lap.

Zacharias looks at him questioningly as he flips through the magazine.

"Britain's most eligible bachelors," Justin adds helpfully, "Page 50."

He flips to the offending page, "Charlie Weasley, most eligible bachelor in England - I really don't - _fuck_."

He stares.

And then he stares some more.

Eventually he finds his voice and eloquently says, "Um."

 

> **#6 Hufflepuff's heir: bad boy Zacharias Smith**
> 
> It's a truth universally acknowledged that a single man of fortune with a murky past must be in want of a young lady to set him on the straight and narrow. And really, the past doesn't get much murkier than it does with Zacharias Smith. He's a member of Dumbledore's Army, but he never fought in the war and he has at least two notorious Death Eaters in his family (which might explain why he's touchy about his left arm. Go on and ask him, we dare you.) He's an editor for that bastion of liberalism, _The Wixenomist_ , but he's everything _but_ sober. He's been spotted tossing up his dinner in potted plants at Monte Carlo's most exclusive casino, cavorting half-clad with nubile young witches of dubious birth and flaunting the Statute of Secrecy in a real vintage Aston Martin that we're assured runs _entirely_ on magic. He's been around the world, but don't imagine for a minute that this was a respectable Grand Tour, not when it involved wild trips around the continent and six months in Colombia. (What shady business took him to the land of fairy dust smuggling? And why won't he talk about it?)
> 
> **Why:** At 5000 galleons a year along with a fancy castle in Wales and a pedigree that would put your purebred Crups to shame he's well worth it (and boy, wouldn't you like to tap those Quidditch toned thighs?)
> 
> **Date:** _The Inimitable Livers_ and b&b after. Our resident playboy can be found, on any given evening, flitting about _The Inimitable Livers,_ throwing back exotic cocktails, accompanied by a posse of buxom young witches hanging on his every word. This young bachelor clearly knows how to live it up and kudos to the witch who manages to capture his fleeting attentions to set him on the straight and narrow.

"It's amazing," says Zacharias, eventually, once he's regained his ability to form whole sentences, "How they've managed to turn you, a single bloke, into a posse of nubile witches."

"Zach."

"Do they even _employ_ fact-checkers down at _Witch Weekly_?"

"Zach."

"Or do they just make stuff up, whatever strikes their fancy?"

"Zach," Justin grabs his shoulders, "What. Do they mean by _Colombia_?"

Zacharias tosses the magazine to the side, "Oh, er, nothing. Absolute drivel. Gossip rag. Trash."

Justin narrows his eyes.

"Honestly Justin," he waves vaguely in the direction of the magazine, "It's all rubbish, everyone knows _that_ ," he indicates Justin, "You're a girl. Several of them, in fact," he snorts as he considers Justin's slender form, " _Buxom_ girls."

"Quidditch-toned thighs, really?" Justin's lips twitch

"You like them," Smith curls his fingers around Justin's belt loops and draws him closer.

"That I do," says Justin, his breath hitches as Zacharias starts to unbutton his trousers, "Even if you've never played Quidditch."

"- _bastard_."

* * *

A vague feeling of doom and the inevitable descends upon him when he steps into the elevator down to the Ministry and senses, rather than sees, a woman in her early-thirties step into the lift beside him.

He counts to ten. She stumbles and lands in his outstretched arms.

"Let me guess," he says resignedly, as he helps her up while pointedly examining the light fittings because naturally, if he ignores her, she will disappear, "You're sorry, you want to know if I'm Zacharias Smith and you want to introduce yourself."

"Susan Bones," she deadpans, "I believe we've known each other since we were eleven and no, I'm not about to apologize. Prewett was right. Completely worth it."

"Oh - _you_ \- _she_ \- when I get my hands on her -" he growls

"You'll kill her? Threatening young innocent women in front of a high-ranking official of the Auror Department, while summoned to the Auror Department by Auror Potter - is that _wise_ Mr Smith?"

"How do you know about that?"

Susan smiles at him, "I'm here to escort you to his office - in case you try any funny business. And give you a few warnings, on behalf of Hufflepuff - wouldn't like to drag our name through the mud would you?"

He grinds his teeth, "It's about my arm. I can't believe they'd pull me up for questioning because of a ruddy gossip rag."

"If it helps, I told him about it," she says as they step out of the elevator together, "But he wouldn't believe me. Doesn't help that Ron and Hermione don't like you much either, you could've _tried_ to be friendly, at least, but _no_ , Zacharias Smith is far above us all and cannot be bothered with the trivialities of plain, civil conversation -"

Zacharias rolls his eyes, "So kind of you to put yourself to _so_ much _trouble_ for me -"

"-I tried Zach, I really did, but the Auror Division's been on its toes lately what with the you know, _Merlin_ all the things that've been happening lately," Susan stops and face Zacharias, "I told Auror Potter it wasn't anything at all, just a bit of puerile teenage idiocy, but he's having none of it. 'Sides, there's also your brother and your _uncle_ and your _cousin_ -"

Zacharias raises his hands, "I know, I know. Once a criminal always a criminal."

"It's not like that, everyone's just being careful. No one's willing to write it off to you being an _arse_ -"

"'Ppreciate the vote of confidence -"

"So just cooperate with him, will you? Don't sneer, just. Behave. All right?"

"Docile as a dormouse," he promises her, then enters the office of the Head of the Auror Division, "Boohoo, I'm a wicked, nasty Death Eater."

Susan pinches the bridge of her nose, "I said _behave_."

"I _am_ behaving. You never -"

"- _formality_ -" chokes Auror Potter, "It'sjustaformality."

"Spot checks on citizens to ensure they're not former Death Eaters, what a _field day_ Rita'd have -"

" _Not Skeeter_  -"

Susan closes her eyes and counts to ten, "Just roll up your sleeve, Zach."

Zacharias rolls his eyes and complies.

"Um."

"Well I told you he was a prat, Harry."

"I didn't -"

"What's that saying?" Zacharias says conversationally, "Give a dog a bad name -"

Susan elbows him in the ribs.

"I'm sorry, we just - it's just - _security_ \- _careful_ \- _in case - Minister Shacklebolt_."

"I didn't know the Auror Division was in the business of taking advice from gossip rags," says Zacharias, rolling down and buttoning up his left sleeve, "But there you are," he says cheerfully, "You can tell them I'm very definitely not a Death Eater and almost quite certainly a prat so's they can have a field day making thinly veiled insinuations about how you and I are having a scandalous sordid affair on the side -"

" _Zach_ -"

" _Ow_ \- _Merlin_ , Su you horse-footed -"

" _Sorry_ ," Harry bleats, "We were just making sure - but _I'm the king of the world_ , _really_?"

"Nineteen was a very difficult age," Zacharias says smoothly, "Also a very drunk age. Fairy dust may have been involved. Don't do drugs and drink in the presence of knives and all that."

Susan Bones throws her hands up in despair.

* * *

"Anyway," Justin remarks conversationally, from behind his copy of _The Prophet_ , "Why _Colombia_? It's not the first time I've heard it - "

Zacharias groans.

"Blythely keeps bringing it up too - bit _odd_ , isn't it?"

"Go _away_."

"What _did_ you do in Colombia, Zach? I've never seen people yammer on about it like they do with this -"

"Nothing."

"I mean it must have been really scan - what?"

"Nothing. I didn't do anything."

"Oh."

There's a thrilling column on the rise and fall of the Galleon that Zacharias is just getting into when Justin's slipper hits him in the face.

"Fucking - _Justin_."

"It's a column on _finance_ , it doesn't need your attention," Justin folds his paper to the side, "So why does everyone go on about it?"

"Go on about what?"

"It."

"What's it?"

" _Colombia_ , you prat, do keep up."

"Lord, I don't know, it's the popular press, it keeps them entertained - it isn't - oh no you don't, no I won't I refuse to be -"

And _oh Merlin, there he goes tilting his head and pouting_.

Zacharias covers his face with the newspaper, then decides that if there is a mountain to be climbed, climb it he must. He looks at Justin, "I've never been to Colombia."

"What."

"I've been to Argentina. Nice place. Not Colombia though -"

"So why's everyone harping on about Colombia if you've _never been_?"

Zacharias sighs and puts his paper aside, "I'm only telling you this because you won't shut up about it and I need peace and quiet if I am to be up to date with the latest doings and misdoings of the wizarding world's finances."

"Not because we're in a relationship and this is essential for establishing trust between the two of us."

"Nope."

"Right. All right. Tell me the story," Justin settles himself comfortably in his armchair.

"You can't tell anyone."

"- all right?"

"Right, so," Zacharias takes a deep breath in, "There's a Wanted: Dead or Alive poster with my face on it in Colombia -"

" _What_? You said you hadn't been - "

" _I_ wasn't in Colombia, my _face_ was on a poster for wanted criminals. _I_ was in the Czech Republic."

Justin frowns, "What, you mean your body was in the Czech Republic and your disembodied head was in Colombia?"

Zacharias sighs, "Father thought I was in Colombia, but I actually was in the Czech Republic?"

"It's still - no, it still doesn't make sense - what - _how_?"

"I flooed father, his secretary told him I was in Colombia, he flooed them and told them I was a dangerous criminal wanted for fairy dust smuggling - merlin knows what that woman understood - they took some of the family's photos of me and slapped them on a couple of Wanted Dead or Alive posters and stuck 'em round Bogota. Meanwhile I was languishing in prison in the Czech Republic."

Justin rubs his temples, "No - Zach, this, this still doesn't make sense. Can't you do this in a straight line? Does everything have to be a work of modern fiction?"

"How _unfashionable_ of you," Zacharias, "Well the important thing is to remember that I was _drunk_ and high on - what was it, fairy dust? - fairy dust, possibly also that muggle thing, er, velum?"

"Valium, prat. I'm surprised you're still alive."

"It must be a genetic thing. Teenagers. Can't kill themselves with drugs. Anyway, as things go, I was _high_ as a bloody kite and I was _driving_ my grandad's Aston Martin which I'd borrowed -" he pauses and frowns, "So there you are, not at all my fault - I was driving from San Tropez to Prague - don't know why, so don't ask - got piss drunk and high along the way and danced, possibly swung? Helga knows, on a nearby thingummy. Turns out it was a memorial for the Fallen Soldier -"

"Oh dear."

"Got hauled up by the muggle coppers, couldn't figure out what I was blathering on about - well it took them long enough to figure out I was a wizard or something to that effect - handed me over to the Czech auror divison and then told me to floo my parents."

"Oh _dear_."

"Well, I don't know what they thought I could do. I couldn't remember my address so they flooed the Ministry -"

"- _oh dear_ -" Justin mutters underneath his breath

" - and I told my dad's secretary I was in Colombia."

" _Why_?"

"I er, thought I was in er, Colombia?"

"You're joking."

The tips of Zacharias' ears turn red, "No?" he says in a very small voice, "I actually did think I was in Colombia?"

"Jesus - well that explains _Colombia_."

"Well father tried, he really did, but he isn't - well he doesn't speak Spanish at all, bless him, he flooed the Colombian equivalent of the DMLE to try and get me out but I s'ppose it came out all wrong because next thing you know they're printing posters of me saying I'm a dangerous drug smuggler."

"Instead of a monumentally stupid junkie?"

"Well because they'd printed those posters father thought I was an actual drug smuggler and I'd been lying to him - because _clearly_ he wasn't the one at fault here - only he couldn't find me because of course, I wasn't in Colombia, I was in the Czech Republic being thrown into prison for using too many drugs and also drug smuggling."

Justin pinches the bridge of his nose, "I'm just - were you or weren't you smuggling drugs?"

"I wasn't a _smuggler_. Someone - not me - had stuffed teeny-tiny packets of fairy dust under the seats of the car and sent me off to the Czech Republic. I didn't _want_ to sell those drugs or take'm anywhere. I was a _mule_. I mean, I was pretty doped out, but I wasn't _stupid_."

"You _are_ pulling my leg, aren't you?"

Zacharias buries his face in his hands, "I wish I was," his voice is muffled, "But I'm not."

"So your parents spent six months looking for you in the wrong place because you couldn't be arsed to communicate with them properly."

"Well that's _one_ way of looking at it - the negative, adult way - but you know, I _did_ get a nice sting out of it once I'd sobered up. Made my career as a journalist blowing up a drug smuggling ring in the French Riviera. Wouldn't be here at The Wixenomist if it wasn't for that. And all that - I was _drunk_! I said it was important to remember I was _drunk_ and _high_ \- I am the reason why my sister spent her Oxford years relatively sober, it was a _cautionary tale_ \- _stop looking at me like that_."

Justin rubs his face with both hands, "I can't believe Blythely looked at you and thought you were the perfect man to run the _business section_ of the bloody Wixenomist."

"Mercurial brilliance, he called it and then gave me a dose of something that really spiffed up my nervous system."

"I'm _dating_ a - a - junkie jailbird and drug mule and _Merlin knows what else_."

"Everyone fancies playboys."

Justin's other slipper hits Zacharias squarely in the face.

* * *

"So's the lovenest still harmonious, or has Justin decided to run off with Bole?" Mafalda hops onto Zacharias' desk and swings her legs in an altogether far too jovial fashion for Zacharias' liking.

"It's not a _lovenest_ , I don't know where you pick this slang up and in case you haven't noticed, I must point out that embezzlement doesn't have half the sex appeal of being a notorious playboy and possibly also a drug smuggler. Ergo, Bole loses. In every respect."

"Well at least Bole doesn't have three or four photos of him gallivanting about in the nude snorting fairy dust from the fingernails of half-Veela, half-Gancanagh strippers in a bathtub slapped all over the popular press."

"Trivialities, trivialities," he waves his hand dismissively, "Justin and I had a little chat and he concluded that it was best to let bygones be bygones and that I am a Reformed Man."

"Did he now? Did that chat, by any chance, involve either you or him undressing each other?"

"No, actually, we talked about Blythely and how I am a man of mercurial brilliance and how everyone of the age of twenty-one ought to spend at least six months in the Czech prison system."

"Really," she says drily

"'S Character building. It's how I came to be a Reformed Man."

"Catchy. You might have to write that autobiography eventually," she slides off his desk gracefully, "While battling bevvies of young interested persons."

"Oh," he says, folding his hands and smiling beatifically, "Justin and I have that matter well in hand."

* * *

"Ready?"

"Yes? I think?"

"Good," says Zacharias, slipping his arm around Justin's waist.

"Are you _really_ sure -"

Zacharias snogs him and a hundred flashes go off around them.

"- interrupting a Ministry press conference is the best way to do this?" finishes Justin, when Zacharias releases him.

"The only way."

* * *

Justin shoves the evening edition of _The Daily Prophet_ in Zacharias' face, "Well?"

 

> **Minister of Magic Adviser and Wixenomist Business Editor take a strong stand for LGBT rights**

"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE."

* * *

"Rita, my dear Rita - I'm sure you understand - quality of mercy and all that - do have pity on our poor Business Editor, otherwise I might feel obliged to er, release those pictures to the public."

"A promise is a promise, or don't you keep your promises Blythely?"

Augustus raises his eyebrows, "I distinctly recall you promising to keep him out of the gutter press."

" _I_ did," says Rita, " _I_ can't speak for Kitty Perkins. Not everyone understands the importance of privacy and discretion as well as I do."

"Indeed."

"I'm surprised Mr Smith agreed to let her edit his, er," she pointedly examines her fingernails, "autobiography, given the, um, highly sensitive nature of its contents. Not exactly very astute of him - not at all what I'd have expected of _you_ , Augustus."

Augustus smiles blandly at her, "And what would you suggest he ought to have done?"

"Well first of all," she says, "He can come out from behind the door. Really Augustus, I thought you and your people were above lowly espionage."

Augustus' smile grows forced as Rita opens the door joining his office with the assistant editor's office to reveal Zacharias Smith and Mafalda Prewett with their ears pressed to the door and Miles Bletchley, hovering discreetly in the background, attempting to appear patently uninterested and failing miserably at it.

"Rita darling," Mafalda advances on Rita and proceeds to kiss the air three inches from Rita's cheek, "How nice to see you."

One day, Zacharias reflects, he too will master the act of appearing brazenly undisturbed when caught in the middle of wrongdoing. As it were, he mumbles something which could either be _good morning_ or _bloody hell_ before Miles unceremoniously shoves him into Augustus' tiny office.

"Do sit down Mr Smith," Rita pats the seat next to her invitingly and for the millionth time in the past week, Zacharias feels that vague sense of doom and the inevitable descend upon him.

"Now that we're all settled comfortably," she continues, "I don't want you to think I'm blaming you dear, I do understand that Kitty has a very forceful personality and young, impressionable men - _and_ women - are often carried away by her - usually end up spilling their secrets to her and it's _such a shame_ , because really, she's from the new school of journalists; don't believe in privacy and always game for a little bit of money on the side. Really quite shameful."

Miles coughs. Zacharias Smith stares at her incredulously.

Maybe it's a Slytherin thing.

"- and because I'm a generous sort of person who doesn't hold grudges, I have a little proposition that could solve Mr Smith's women problems."

"We'd be delighted to hear what you have to, er, say," Augustus looks meaningfully at Zacharias, "Wouldn't we, Smith?"

He slides, ever so slightly, down his chair, "Er, um, yes, quite."

Rita is all business now, "It's not a lot I'm asking for and it's purely out of concern for your interests, Augustus dear, don't get me wrong, but I really think you should let _me_ edit your autobiography dearie. Kitty's a perfectly nice girl but I'm sure you'll find that I have," she pushes her glasses up and smiles, "more experience in the field and a far better, er, _understanding_ of what the public expects of someone who works for a fine, upstanding paper like _The Wixenomist_."

Augustus' lips twitch, "That's very generous of you, Rita."

"Of course, I'd like to get my hands on the manuscript as soon as possible," she idly toys with the chain around her neck, "speed is everything in these situations. Best to set the record straight while the public's still interested in you, hmmm?"

"Er," Zacharias leans forward, "How quickly exactly do you need this?"

"Oh," she tilts her head as she considers this, "Two weeks should give you more than enough time to look over it -"

Miles has a violent coughing fit at this and Zacharias lets out what Mafalda Prewett will later call an unmanly squeak.

"- after all," she smiles, rather far too much like a shark for Zacharias' taste, "you _have_ been working on it for six months now."

"Six months and eleven days," Mafalda adds much too innocently, "To be precise."

"Well dear, you're not going to let me down, are you?" Rita asks him, "After all, it isn't like a writer for a magazine as, er, respectable as this to defect -"

"Fine," says Zacharias in strangled tones, "I'll do it."

"And as editor, you're willing to accept all my inputs?"

Zacharias looks pleadingly at Augustus who simply nods, "Yes, all right, all right."

"Excellent," she picks up her bag, "I look forward to reading it."

Zacharias smiles weakly.

Miles clears his throat after a suitable amount of time has passed, "Well -"

"Don't say it -"

"It looks like -"

" _Miles_."

"- you'll -"

" _Do something_ ," Zacharias looks helplessly at Augustus, who shrugs.

"But my dear boy," says Augustus, "He's right - you'll have to write it now."

Zacharias slides off his chair and on to the floor, "I _loathe_ you all. I'm running away to Colombia."

"Well at least some part of your autobiography will be true then, won't it?" Augustus mutters underneath his breath, before shooing them all out of his office.

**Author's Note:**

> The Inimitable Livers is intellectual property of essayofthoughts


End file.
